


oh, the kissed limbs

by lavenderforluck



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gryffindor!Harry, Harry Potter AU, Honeydukes owner!Louis, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5279390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderforluck/pseuds/lavenderforluck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis works at honeydukes, harry is a student at hogwarts. home is where the heart is, or in harry's case, where louis is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is an old fic i wrote probably in 2012 (when i was love-wilts - high five if you know!) if i remember correctly. just as a warning: there is no capitalisation, because that was totally a thing in 2012 i swear. if it bothers you, its okay, i understand! 
> 
> sophie totally encouraged me to put this back up. its the hp!au no one asked for but got anyway.
> 
> the title comes from Pablo Neruda's Song of Despair.

 

_I have so much of you in my heart_

_john keats_

-

 

harry’s cheeks are flushed bright pink as he bounds up the cracked concrete steps into the honeydukes in hogsmeade. the stairs are older than sin, nearly sitting sideways in their age. harry minds the third step. the bell tinkles, and a blue pygmy puff titters as harry looks round.

the pygmy, xavier, recognizes harry and comes to rest on his shoulder, his fur tickling harry’s cheek. it isn’t too busy, not like on designated weekend trips. school is nearly out for the year and harry should be studying for his newts, but instead, he’s here. he’s not guilty.

he finds louis in the back corner, handling a bag of fizzy straws to a boy too small to reach them. he's wearing an obnoxious bright green and purple striped jumper and his cuffed corduroys  are stained with something bright pink and smoking.

“hey,” louis looks up after handling the baggy to the little boy, who runs up to his mum for a few sickles. his bright eyes narrow slightly, a rueful smile drawing on his face. “you should be studying, you know.”

harry throw him a grin he knows is particularly disarming, “wanted to see you.”

louis colors slightly, grinning from ear to ear before hurrying back up to the register again as a small line gathers. harry follows him. xavier flutters over to sit on the top of louis’ head, cooing heartily as louis jumps on one foot from the other to try and dislodge him, albeit jokingly. harry notices he’s barefoot.

“put your things upstairs, and pull an apron on. i’ll let you eat all the chocolate i made this morning if you help,” louis smiles at him, and harry grins in return, happily obliging so long as he can stay here and not trudge back up to the school. he already knows how this will go: by the time louis closes shop, it will be too late for harry to return and he’ll have to go in the morning. he wonders if louis has sensed the pattern yet, and hopes not.

it’s a lot cooler but just as cramped up in louis’ apartment above the shop. harry sets his overnight bag on the small, overstuffed sofa pushed against the wall and slides off his maroon school sweater over the arm. he’s clumsy in his teenage bones, still needing time to get used to his six foot frame and gangly limbs. louis likes it, thinks fondly back when harry used to be short - and now louis stands just below his ear, looking up at him with twinkling eyes. harry thinks he’d be fine without being so tall - save himself a lot of bumps on the head, but it’s worth it, completely worth it, when lou tucks his head under his chin when they embrace.

there are towers of books underneath the coffee table, around the outdated radio and above the couch, hovering precariously on their rickey bookshelves. louis hasn’t read them all, but he wants to, ambitious to learn about the world and chocolate and all kinds of magic. he’d never been too academic, but he’d always been curious. up until louis had left hogwarts, that curiosity had gotten him and his friends into quite a bit of trouble. and harry, too, when he was deemed cool enough to tag along.

weedle is sitting inside the small open window over the sink and harry leans over to scratch her behind the ears. she purrs, licking her tongue over his thumb when he hit a soft spot by her whiskers. there’s still tea brewing on the counter, a spoon stirring mechanically in mid air next to a book highlighting recipes dogeared by presumably louis.

the noise level was starting to reach so harry grabs an apron and rolls his sleeves to his shoulders. downstairs, louis shoots him a look, eyeing the new spurts of muscle and the expansion of harry’s chest, now made obvious without the extra layer. he tuts harry sharply on his head as he passes to find some cockroach clusters for a small gaggle of eleven year old boys. somehow, even though harry is technically of age and finally an adult, louis still manages to make him feel like a complete child.

-

it dies down by seven, thankfully, when most of the other shops start closing up except for rosemerta's and madam puddifoot's, and louis’ got chocolate smeared on his cheekbone. it changes colors, from purple to some glittery shimmer to bright yellow, but harry knows what it is because when louis finally turns the sign on the door, he reaches over the counter and licks it.

louis swats at him gleefully, tugging on the collar of harry’s apron and kissing for the first time that day properly. his mouth tastes like old sugar, like something sweet he ate hours ago, and harry nearly sinks into the kiss, leaning all his bodyweight on the counter in tiredness as louis licks at his mouth.  

he pulls away, brushing harry’s hair back from his forehead, muttering something about a haircut. harry smiles up at him lazily, his feet aching from standing behind the register all day and trying to avoid xavier nesting in his curls. 

“here,” louis passes over a chocolate frog, and harry unwraps the card before the frog hops off his finger and pressing him into his mouth. it melts nearly instantly and harry feels himself almost groan. louis’ cheeks quirk in a small smile. “who’d you get?”

“ron weasley, again,” harry says, tucking the card in his back pocket.

“aw, you must have a thousand of those, don’t you?” louis says, turning off the lights in the front except for the display window, tucking xavier in the crook his elbow. he pulls harry close him and harry slides less than gracefully, nearly tipping over a cauldron of fizzing whizbees.

“he’s my favorite though. i mean, i was named after harry, but it’d be cool if i was named after ron,” harry shrugs. “weasley is my king.”

louis presses a tiny kiss to harry’s ear as they climb up the stairs together, clumsy because their limbs are still entangled. “i know, darling. i know.” he whispers, and harry slouches on the sofa as louis goes on to make tea and dinner for them. the radio is on, crooning old _moaning and the myrtles_ , stuff they used to put out before they hit mainstream.

the windows are all open but it’s june and the weather is nice. louis is humming along to some inane tune as he shifts a tray of leftover shepherd’s pie and cups of pumpkin juice. harry has peeled off his trousers and sits cross legged in his boxers and t-shirt. louis budges up and unfolds his legs in harry’s lap, tucking his toes underneath his thigh. they’re cold, even though the rest of louis is not, and dusty from walking around the shop without shoes.

“you eat like you’re starved!” louis exclaims as harry finishes his shepherd's pie, patting his stomach graciously and leaning his neck against the curve of the couch. “like you haven’t been sampling everything in the store today.”

“can’t help it, i’m a man now,” harry grins. louis swats him.

“a growing boy, maybe,” he corrects. then, “what’d you think of the cauldron cakes? thought they were a bit too sweet.”

“you like your sugar slightly bitter. i thought they were swell.”

“you think all the treats are swell. something has got to be _not_ swell.”

“well, this pumpkin juice is stale,” harry remarks, draining his cup and setting it back on the teetering table.

louis rolls his eyes, “i haven't been out to the markets yet this week. make deal.”

“ _i am_ ,” harry whines, “can’t i just like things? why do i have to _not_ like things? all your sweets are perfect, okay, even the ones i don’t like.”

louis bites his lip, “sorry. guess i’m a bit stressed. want it to be perfect, you know, like mum used to.”

“your mum would be so proud, lou. you know this stuff like the back of your hand, you’ve been around her doing it your whole life. why all of a sudden the doubt, boo bear?”

louis shoots him another look of reprieve for the nickname, but lets it slide. he points to the week old daily prophet on his table, partially covered by a bag of bernie bott’s every flavored beans.

“why do you read this crock and bull?” harry’s brow furrows.

“s’not crock or bull,” louis pouts, leaning his cheek against his curled fist. “it’s _the prophet_. they’re not reviewing me or anything, just, you know, questioning the fact if i can do it. honeydukes has been around for centuries. and i’m just twenty, they don’t - they don’t think i can. y’know, pull if off.” louis colors a bright shock of pink and harry crawls on top of him, slotting his legs in between louis’ knees and tucking his cheek against his collarbone.

“lou,” he croons, “you are the most magnificent chocolatier in the field of chocolate, and you will be the greatest, most attractive honeydukes owner there ever was. please don’t read crap. you don’t need it.”

louis nods, his chin slipping against harry’s temple. his fingers come up to tug gently on harry’s curl, twining them around his fingers and letting them go again. the pattern is tantalizing and makes harry keen under louis’ hands, though this isn’t anything new.

harry kisses the corner of louis’ mouth, rocking himself up to slip his teeth around louis’ top lip, pulling on it. louis’ hand comes up to sweep around the shell of harry’s ear, playing with the curls there.

louis pulls away when harry attempts to suck on his tongue, “you sneaky git. you were supposed to go back to school an hour ago.”

harry’s face falls. “lou,” he whines, knowing he’ll get his way if he keeps it up long enough. “i’ve missed you so much, though. i’ll go back tomorrow morning. promise.”

louis fixes harry with a stare. finally, “i hate it when you do that, you know,” he wags his finger between them, “don’t manipulate me with your kisses, styles, or -”

“or?” harry can’t keep the shit eating grin off his face, raising a brow.

“or i won’t permit them anymore.” louis has trouble crossing his arms against his chest because harry is dead weight on top of him.

“oh, you _won’t,_ huh?” harry goads, leaning up to lick that frown off louis’ face. louis turns to his jaw to the side, and harry is met with cheek.

he slumps back. “you’re supposed to be fun”

“you’re supposed to be studying for your newts, haz,” louis spits back. “you know that.”

harry sighs. “i’m not even doing the newts i want. i wanted to do charms, but christ, i’m stuck with potions. i _hate_ potions.”

“babe,” louis mumbles, fingers reaching over to brush against harry’s face. his fingers smell like cocoa powder. “what’s going on?”

harry huffs another sigh and feels a pang of annoyance well up in his throat. he’s not going to have himself another fit about this. “dad wants me to be a potions master after school and work with him. you know i don’t want to do that.”

“have you told him that?”

“how? have you _met_ my father? it’s ‘you’ve got a guaranteed future’ and ‘carry on the family tradition’. all black and white with him. doesn’t see any color. doesn’t see _me_.” harry grumbles, resisting the urge to blink. his eyes sting.

there’s a rustling on the couch and louis moves over, leaning over and placing his ear against harry’s heart. his fingers come up and rest on harry’s belly, smoothing over the wrinkles in his tee. “m’sorry, haz. i really am.”

harry sighs heavily. he didn’t want louis get all despondent and introspective. he wanted to giggle and not think about his life after hogwarts. his impending future hanging over his head. “i didn’t want to think about this stuff. i just wanted, to you know, escape from it a bit.”

louis stands up and holds out his hand. “alright. let’s not think.”

harry looks up louis. his hair is ruffled and the sky a light pink behind him. _i’m going to remember you like this forever_ , harry thinks. _i’m going to cast every spell i know to keep you suspended just like this_.

so they don’t think. instead, louis leads harry to his small bedroom, painted a dark plum and plastered with peeling posters from his youth. vintage candy ads, a signed _hermione granger_ autograph, the first _celestina warbeck and the banshees_ concert advertisement they had ever gone to.

louis pushes harry until his knees hit the bed. “you’re already naked,” he mutters to himself, “typical.”

“nearly naked,” harry points out, a slow grin on his face. “ _nearly_.”

louis climbs over him, “you forget your wand in the parlor. no matter, i’ve got mine.”

“always prepared,” harry’s fingers crawl up louis’ sides, pulling at his jumper and discarding it across the room. his chest is smooth, a crescent moon tattooed on his left breast bone in purple ink. harry traces it, licking his lips.

“haz,” louis leans over, cupping his cheek and kissing him soundly. harry wonders if he tastes like louis’ chocolate.

harry looks up at him, wide eyes and mouth parted, dick swelling massively as louis presses in closer to him.

“i think you’re great,” louis says finally, the corner of his mouth falling into a small smile. harry feels himself grin before he registers what louis says, the way he says it, small and soft and complacent, because what he means - _i think you’re great - i think we’re great. i think you and i - i think that’s great._

harry sits up and flips them over, kisses him like it’s a promise and forever all rolled into one.

-

the next morning, they eat cheese on toast and share a bath. louis’ got old quibblers that are outdated for nearly three years, but harry likes flipping through anyway, remembers distantly that when these came out, he was a fourth year, and that’s pretty cool. louis hums dazedly and washes harry’s hair for him, creating a soapy mohawk and twirling his curls. harry pretends not to preen under the attention, but fails.

“what’s this smelly stuff?” harry asks, grabbing clumps of bubbles that glow pink and orange.

“that’s soap, haz, let me introduce you,” louis grumbles sarcastically.

harry doesn’t have enough room in the tub to turn around and glare. “oh, _funny_. i know what soap is. i mean, where did you get it?”

“i went to madam primpernelle’s” louis says nonchalantly, and sours when harry barks out a laugh.

“you did? that’s such a _old lady_ store, lou.”

“so? i like their salts.”

“oh, for the sake of merlin.”

louis pulls on harry’s ear, earning a yelp in response, before leaning down kissing his shoulder. harry doesn’t want to admit it, he’d passed madam primpernelle’s before in diagon alley, and he had been curious but he’d never gone in. that was more gemma’s area, and he knew he’d never hear the end of it from her if he gave into curiosity. louis apparently no qualms.

“the soap _is_ nice,” louis grumbles as they dry themselves off. louis dresses in a white t-shirt and navy shorts, without shoes. harry dresses in some of louis’ pants, forgoes the shirt and goes on to get crumbs absolutely everywhere when he chomps on another piece of toast.

louis side eyes him. “you’ll have to dress eventually, you _are_ going back to school.”

“says who? i like my nakedness. katie carmichael would agree.”

“katie carmichael is a _girl_ who fancies you, of course she’d like to get you naked.”

harry waggles his eyebrows. laughter drips out of him like firecrackers when louis throws up his hands.

 

-

 

“i miss you,” harry says for maybe the third time. louis is covered in icing and flour, spread across his cheeks and down his throat like war paint. harry kisses him again, nipping the sugar off his lips. “i miss you.”

“you haven’t even left yet, haz,” louis laughs, but it falters somewhere in the middle. harry catches it, the sadness in louis. he always does. “you’re going to be late if you don’t get going.”

“i miss you, though,” harry pouts as louis ushers him to the front door. honeydukes will be opening soon, and then harry _will_ really have to go. “i’m gonna miss you so much. fail all my exams cause i can’t eat and sleep and i’ll die of -”

“how dramatic you are. get out of my shop!” louis pushes at harry’s shoulders.

harry tugs on louis’ shirt, fabric worn out in his firsts. “i love you, i love you, i love _you_ \- ”

louis sighs and smothers him with kisses, cupping harry’s face and pulling him closer. harry’s neck goes taut as he leans over louis, but - but his tongue and his mouth and his skin, they all feel so good. sweet, so sweet.

“go, haz,” louis mutters, voice strangled. harry’s eyes flutter to a close.

“i’ll write you,” he offers finally. he separates himself from louis’ being, ignores the way his heart protests, _wrong!_

louis can’t manage a proper laugh. he looks strained. “i’ll be right here.”

harry nods. “okay. i miss you.”

“i’ll miss you too. you better beg liam to help you study. you’ll need it.”

“nah,” harry grins, anything to distract from the way his stomach lurches, “rather have a pint with niall and zayn if i can.”

“do no such thing until you’re finished exams,” louis chastises, fingers interlocking with harry’s. their hands swing to and fro for a second, unable to disengage just yet. harry wants to argue that louis was a wild one in school, a trailblazer and giving james potter  a run for hismoney, but he bites his lip and heeds his advice.

louis tucks harry’s gryffindor lapel into his jumper, kissing his forehead. their time is always too short and too far in between. harry leaves without kissing him properly again because he doesn’t think he can manage going back to school and not wrapping himself up in louis’ limbs if he does that.

- 

_dear l_

_exams are finished! does that mean i get a case of bernie botts? or maybe licorice wands? niall says he’s low on fudge flies, but don’t believe it! mate has got a whole flat of them under his bed, i expect. dad’s already got me a spot to start interning underneath him but i told him i wanted to talk to him about my charms newt, i decided to take it on a whim and i think i got an O, i can just feel it. liam finished nearly top of the class, like expected, only behinds leigh-ann. smart cookie, she is_

_we’ve got the whole summer, lou, and i know i owe you lots of hours working for all the free sweets. extra probably for all the ones you sent niall and zayn, too. they send their love._

_see you in a few weeks!_

_lots of love and x’s_

_haz_  

-


	2. part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little more mature ratings wise - for one or two sentences.

 

harry is his favorite home. louis realizes this on a november afternoon while it snows in hogsmeade and he finds one of harry’s school letters from last winter underneath an old box of fizzing whisbee’s.

the letter is only one line long, but it is entirely harry.

_my stomach aches from all halloween treats. can i come home now?_

it’s dated last year. _yes, harry_ , louis answers privately in his head, folding the letter and slipping it back beneath the till. _you can come home._

long and lanky and with a head full of curls, harry comes up from the basement with a box full of cauldron cakes. there is flour in his hair, and louis smiles at him, softly, following behind him and pulling down the hem of his shirt. a slice of lower back had been peeking out, iridescently pale and soft like bar soap. louis’ fingers are incredibly cold, he knows, but harry doesn’t flinch.

“any customers since i’ve been downstairs?” harry asks hopefully, and louis smiles again.

“no, afraid not,” he sighs, looking out at the november rain. it’s nearly a monsoon outside, and the bitterness of the weather keeps most of the customers away. harry’s face visibly falls, as if it is somehow his fault, and louis tugs on his ear to keep him grinning. “lets turn in anyway, for the night. kip in. start a fire or summat.”

“kay,” harry agrees, and he watches louis turn out the display light and turn the lock on the door. louis is about to settle the till when harry looks up beneath his lashes, suddenly bashful, and says, “sorry.”

“sorry?” louis repeats back. he pretends to be bemused about what harry is apologizing for, but he knows what harry is implying. and harry knows him well enough to know that louis isn’t confused either. it’s politeness, though. to not point out how utterly poor they’ve become, and to not blame harry for it.

harry shrugs silently like he is at fault for the weather and the lack of business. “just. sorry. i keep having to remind myself that i will someday be able to repay you, but right now...just, sorry.”

louis scrunches up his face like there is a bad smell in the shop, and he smiles. “i don’t have to remind myself that you’ll help support us, haz, because i know. and i’m not worried, so please don’t be sorry.”

harry heaves a heavy a sigh, tugging on his bracelet. he bites his lip like he’s embarrassed, and louis figures it’s because he is. finally, when the dust settles between them, and all that can be said has been, and harry’s sadness still hasn’t bid goodbye, louis says, “lets go to bed.”

-

harry is asleep when his cheek hits the pillow, but louis is awake for a long while. sometimes he contemplates his entire universe (harry, honeydukes, his dear dead mum, hogwarts, and all the books he still has to read), sometimes he thinks of something funny and wakes harry to tell him. when harry was at school he used to write three or four page letters to him, confessing his love as if he’s just realized it. those letters, for whatever reason, he was never able to send.

he looks over at harry’s sleep form, and savors it. fixates on it, before rolling back over and looking out at the bleak, fog smitten sky. the problem he keeps trying to suffocate is that harry has a heart that is meant to travel to world. harry should have gone abroad - like he had planned to when he first graduated.

he was supposed to go to st. petersburg, hanoi, new delhi, and cape town with niall and zayn before coming back to study potion making underneath his father. those were the conditions. but harry disregarded the latter end of the deal and moved in with louis. and so the world fell through, and niall and zayn, though with regret, left without him.

instead of being prosperous and  instead of seeking the adventure he so readily desires, here he is, making sugar quills for hours and pretending his sadness doesn’t exist. but louis knows him better than that. and harry knows that louis can see through it.

that’s what being in love is like. it is having no secrets and being turned inside out so all the funny parts can be seen. louis accepts harry’s sadness like his secondary sadness and his accidents as if he too has scraped his knees falling from his broomstick, and he feels harry’s shame like his own. he has feelings he’s had no recollection of before.

this is why he knows that harry feels so guilty for not taking his father’s position. and only having three NEWTS, which is not enough for a secondary wizarding university. harry is passionate about charms, and he’s so _good_ at charms, and louis feels that secondary frustration because there are no jobs in charms. this is why he knows harry suffers daily from embarrassment having louis to pay for everything. louis wishes he could communicate that he would do it a thousand times over without pointing out harry’s guilt. it’s politeness, again.

louis falls asleep thinking of the letter he found under the box of candy. _can i come home?_

he thinks that he should have insisted, _no, go out, be young, and then come back, and you’ll never resent me. i know my life will be entrapped by this place, but not your’s, harry. you still have the world at your hands._

-

weedle wakes him up; it is dawn and just barely december. louis shivers, pressing closer to harry and trying to eat up every decimal of his warmth. the coals in the fireplace are spent and too old anyway to burn properly. louis shivers again, smiling slightly when harry groans into consciousness.

“your toes are like ice lolly’s,” harry whispers, voice thick with sleep. he lifts his chin, pillow marks on his cheek, blinking owlishly.

louis could say _i love you_ , right now, because that is simply how he feels. instead he runs a hand through harry’s bed head and wills himself from his quilts. harry smiles, just the corner of his mouth, like he knows what louis was going to say. and that’s it, really.

-

december is a good month for them, because hogwarts lets out for holiday soon and people will be needing droobles best chewing gum and fat, honey toffee and chocolate frogs. so many chocolate frogs. louis doesn’t mind the onslaught of business all of a sudden, the fourteen hour days, the blur of the weeks passing by. harry was getting too thin.

they both pretend, as they slump into bed, exhausted and most likely covered in chocolate that this will cure their stilted romance. it is as if, since harry has graduated, that louis only loves in retrospect, only loves him to keep the memory of him alive. somedays, harry doesn’t use his wand at all. louis fears his magic will leave him.

christmas day draws nearer, and louis finds harry looking for the post on most mornings, seeing if his parents will send him something. “i don’t even care if they apologize for kicking me out,” harry confesses, when louis catches him. “i just hope they want to know i’m alive, or care, at all.”

“they do care,” louis tells harry firmly, smiling when xavier, their pygmy, nestles once again in harry’s curls, “they’re just arseholes about showing it.”

louis makes a joke to hide how worried he is that any sort of letter may never come in the post. harry kisses him on his temple, “you’re right.”

“course i am,” louis tuts harry’s backside, rushing off to help another customer, and he can feel harry’s smile burning into his back.

-

christmas eve they make love. louis saddled on top of harry, riding him, clutching his bony shoulders until he’s sure there will be red marks. harry whines something spectacular when later, louis bends him over the side of the bed, parking his cheeks and kissing the puckered ring of muscle until he withers.

-

there’s a letter from an owl called collin on boxing day, and harry’s eyes are unsure and steady at the same time. louis stands back, waits for the tension of harry’s back to relax. when it does, he’s not sure it is a good thing or not.

harry turns around because he knows louis is waiting for something. “i,” he starts, looking down at the piece of mail in his hands, “well, it’s not from mum or dad. it’s from zayn...sent me a letter from new delhi,” harry smiles then, but it’s forced, and for some reason, it breaks louis’ heart to pieces.

it’s a postcard with a kingsley shacklebolt stamp on it that nods solemnly every time louis turned it over. it wasn’t anything special or kind or vindictive or _anything_ \- just - _wish you were here_. and louis knows, louis fucking knows that it is exactly what harry wishes, too.

“hey,” louis taps harry on his shoulder, though it is nearly level with his own hairline. when harry doesn’t look at him, fiddling with a ginny weasley for holyhead harpies bracelet, louis taps again, nearly poking him. “ _hey._ ”

harry turns to him, blinking like he does in the morning, but there’s a loss of innocence, there is.

louis gears up, “we’re going to travel the world someday, you and me. we are. we’ll see whatever you want to see. wherever you want to go, we’ll go.”

harry visibly swallows, “but your shop -”

“people will understand if i close the shop for a few weeks.”

“but how will we afford it -”

“we can’t right now,” louis says without sugar coating, because that is how it is: the christmas savings will only reach them a couple months, at best, before they start eating bread with turnip soup again for all three meals. “that’s true. but we will.”

“i feel like - “ harry chokes, and this is it, louis knows, this is where they put the politeness away and be honest with each other. “i feel like i’m trapping you in this life of poverty. you can barely support yourself, lou. i am weighing you down so _much_.”

louis grits his teeth and lies. “you’re not, you’re not. don’t think of yourself as trapping me, or as a responsibility. what would do i with my life without you, hazza?”

“dunno,” harry deadpans, eyes despondent and brain somewhere. “be happier. richer. without worry.”

louis withdraws from harry’s arms. “if you think that all you are to me is a burden, then we are not on the same page,” he says sadly. “i’m going to go run some errands. we’re nearly out of acid for our acid pops.”

- 

louis comes back from diagon alley later that evening. the shop is closed out front, and it looks a little sad without all the christmas lights adorning it from every corner.

upstairs, harry is sitting with knees tucked to his chest by the small living room fireplace. weedle is curled up my his feet. his socks have holes in them. he looks up at louis when he comes up the creaky, narrow staircase.

“hey,” he whispers.

louis sighs, placing his ingredients by the staircase. “hi,” he says quietly. “cuppa?”

there’s a grace of a smile on harry’s face, “please.”

they sit in silence together on the floor of louis’ flat, drinking cheap tea. it’s still snowing outside, just a week after christmas. louis thinks he can still smell the traces of cinnamon in the flat, faint like the sound of harry’s laughter, and it makes him sad.

-

the weeks pass, and the droves of students from hogwarts falter as exams loom closer. louis’ income gets smaller. he pretends not to mind when he has to skip breakfast most mornings.

the irony that he runs a sweet shop but can’t afford to feed harry is not lost on him.

it’s a cold, frost bitten kind of morning when harry stares him down from the  basement door. “i’ve just got a floo from my mother. she says you wrote to my father.”

louis steers himself, “i did. round a week ago, actually. listen, haz -”

“don’t, no. you don’t get to tell me anything,” harry cuts him off. he steps closer, wringing his hands like he’s pleading, “how could you? how could you go behind my back like this?”

louis gestures to the empty shop, “because you’re unhappy, and you’re unhealthy, and i can’t take care of you. i want to. i’m trying.”

“i’m not -” he starts to protest, but louis interrupts him. 

“don’t lie to me, hazza. i know what you sound like when you tell the truth, and this isn’t one of those times.”

“but they want me to leave you. they want to take me away and put me to work at dad’s business.”

“yes, and you _should_ do that. i know you don’t want to, i see that, but harry, what other option is there? there’s no work for you in hogsmeade, love, and you’ve all but swallowed yourself in boredom.”

harry looks like he might cry, but louis pushes on. if he gives in now, he’ll be doomed to give into harry every time - starving and poor and quiet as they will continue to be. this poverty is suffocating them.

“but what about me leaving you? you’re my backbone. you’re my home,” harry pauses, wiping his eyes with the tattered cuff of his sleeve.

“and i’ll be here, for you, always. if you go to the shop and work for your father, he’ll send you around the world like you’ve always wanted. this is what you need, haz, and this is what i need for you. to be happy.” louis wants to clench his teeth and bite the words back, because it’s so _wrong_ from what they originally planned when harry had left hogwarts.

both of them wrote hundreds of letters illustrating the wonderful life they were going to have in hogsmeade, together. and now, and now.

-

that night, harry demands to be held as he falls asleep. he kisses the inches of louis’ skin like he’s memorizing a prayer.

the next morning, louis wakes up to a cold bed for the first time since last summer.

- 

harry doesn’t write the first week. perhaps he’s angry at louis, still, for pleading with his parents to take harry back. perhaps he’s sad like louis is sad, embedded beneath layers and layers of skin and muscle. maybe he’s embarrassed that their youthful ideals were too foolish.

louis finds himself looking for the post. he talks with stan, a mate from school who works at zonko’s, and he waves to the ancient madam puddifoot when he passes her on the street. sometimes louis is shocked that people recognize him, that he isn’t transparent. he has to remind himself that he isn’t a ghost.

the first letter he receives in the middle of march.

_louis,_

_father says i’ve got to work for the next month and then he’ll consider sending me to france. it’s as if my whole life has slowed to stop motion and i can’t quite string any sentences together. whatever foolish brat i had been when i was with you because we had little to spend haunts me terribly. being with you, poor or not, had been the best version of me._

_don’t become my past tense,_

_love you xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

-

_haz,_

_enjoy france. don’t be too hard on yourself._

_love xx_

-

march bleeds into april. hogsmeade trips start frequently as the snow melts. harry’s old classmates sometimes visit too, peeking around for cauldron cakes and blood flavored lollipops and that familiar head of curls.

louis knows the feeling. sometimes he thinks he sees harry’s hair in the corner of his eye only to draw up with nothing.

a postcard with the eiffel tower finds louis by way of a snowy white owl at the end of the month. it simply says, _wish you were here_ , but now he understands how harry felt about receiving the same message from niall and zayn half a year earlier. it tears through him like poison.

-

louis tries to clean up his flat one night out because a cocktail of boredom and loneliness hits him like tidal wave. this proves to be an error because he finds several pictures of them together in an old trunk he uses as his coffee table. louis as a seventh year, and harry, a fourth year. they move slowly, as pictures that have aged tend to do. louis is wrapping his arm around a baby faced harry and tugging him closer until their hips knock together.

another of them in hogsmeade, snow in harry’s unruly curls. harry with his wizarding hat on, singing in the school choir on halloween. louis finds harry’s gryffindor jumper underneath a stack of old potions text books with ink stains on them. louis slips the sweater, the slightly musky smell of harry still remnant inside his creaky armor. it lies alongside louis’ own hufflepuff sweater.

 _come home_ , louis thinks despite himself. he doesn’t dare write it or even say it outloud, but it blares loudly inside his skull. _come home._

-

the thing about wizardry is sometimes louis forgets that magic just happens. and not in the ‘wave your wand and say your spell’ way - or ‘studying magic history’ way - or ‘practicing your latin enchantments’ way - but just, inexplicable, magic.

it’s the only explanation for harry standing on the aging, drooping footsteps in front of honeydukes at half past five in the morning. he’s got his hair all matted to his face and he looks bloody awful, actually, tired and thin and withdrawn but he’s _there_.

“hazza,” louis says unnecessarily, dropping a handful of sickles he had in the tip jar and hurries to unlock the front door. it’s frightfully  brisk outside for it to be may. “harry, what-”

“hi,” harry smiles, and it’s a smile that hasn’t appeared in a few many months. louis feels his breath caught in his throat.

“shite, harry, you bloody wanker,” louis grapples for his shoulders, pulling them down to embrace him. harry rubs his cheek against the side of louis’ temple. “it’s still dark out, you incredible pest. god.”

“i love you too, lou,” harry’s smile is heard in his voice.

-

they watch the sun rise. at a quarter after eight louis feels harry’s eyes on him from his corner of the sofa. harry’s large, boyish hand tapping the inside of louis’ small foot where they sit neatly in his lap.

finally, harry speaks, “i kept feeling like i had to be somewhere. all the time. an urge, a physical one. my parents were sufferable, just barely, but i was so torn, you know. in france it got worse, and when i spent a week in india, i was nearly desperate to find what i was looking for. what was calling me.”

“did you find it?” louis asks, “in india?”

“what was calling me?” a corner of harry’s mouth crooks up into a small half-smile. his cheek dimples. “it was you, lou. calling me home this whole time.”

-

later, after harry had told him he had gotten a correspondence job at the prophet through an uncle, after he explained the magical coffee in france and the entrancing spells in india, harry explained to him that home had never been a place. it was always a person.

louis doesn’t feel the need to tell him he’s known that all along.

-

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading - sorry for any mistakes, those are all mine! comments give me life, and you can come find me at odetopsych-e.tumblr.com


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